{Notification: Legacy Threshold reached. Ready to unlock second [Legacy]}
{Choose Category: [Talent] or [Knowledge]}
His intent locked onto the second choice. Knowledge.
The panel flickered, displaying a new list.
{Available Knowledge Options:}
[Knowledge]
-Vital Anatomy (Tier 1): Deep understanding of human body's weak points for incapacitation or killing.
-Roman Social Etiquette (Tier 1): Understanding of rules of behavior and hierarchy in noble circles.
-Basic Psychology (Tier 1): Fundamental understanding of human motivations, fears, and non-verbal cues.
{Choose one Knowledge to activate}
The choice was clear. Etiquette could be learned. Anatomy was useful in the arena. But understanding what moved the human heart, that was the ultimate power in a world built on lies and ambition.
He chose [Knowledge] Basic Psychology (Tier 1).
There was no cold sensation or wave of physical power. Instead, it felt like a dam in his mind suddenly collapsed. All the observations he had collected for weeks, all the interactions, all the whispers and glances, suddenly connected. The random noise of human behavior around him now arranged itself into a music he could understand.
He didn't gain new senses. His brain was simply given the key to decipher a language that had been spoken around him all along. The language of subtle cues. The language of hidden motivations.
The panel before him flickered.
{Legacy [Knowledge] Basic Psychology (Tier 1) activated.}
{Stored Essence has been used.}
The next day, the world looked the same, but Thomas saw it with different eyes.
Ashur approached him as he was sharpening his training sword. The Syrian's smile was still as wide, his posture as relaxed.
"Good news, my friend," Ashur said, his voice as friendly as ever. "I have some initial information for you. Of course, further details will require... further compensation."
Before, Thomas would have only heard his words. Now, he saw more. He saw the way Ashur's eyes narrowed slightly when he mentioned "information," a gesture of possessiveness. He saw the way Ashur shifted his weight to one foot when mentioning "compensation," a subconscious posture of someone negotiating for profit. Beneath the friendliness, Thomas could now clearly sense the pure tremor of greed. Ashur did not see him as a friend, but as a newly discovered gold mine.
"I will pay you when I have something valuable to pay for," Thomas replied, his voice flat, his eyes not leaving his sword.
A subtle shift in their dynamic hung in the air. Ashur, who perhaps didn't know why, felt his friendliness no longer had the same effect. He simply gave a small nod before leaving.
Then, as training was about to begin, an announcement was made by one of the lead guards. He read from a papyrus scroll, announcing upcoming fights for the entertainment of a visiting official.
He named several names, team fights, fights against beasts. Then, he paused.
"And for the main bout," he bellowed. "A gladiator who has just earned his mark, who brought down the Beast of Carthage... Thomas! Against... the reigning champion of The Pit, Gnaeus!"
A murmur spread. Gnaeus was a brutal Gaul, a seasoned killer from the dirty underground fights. He was part of Crixus's inner circle. This wasn't just a fight. It was a message.
Thomas didn't feel the fear he once did. He looked across the yard at Gnaeus. He saw the man's overly confident posture, his cruel sneer, and the way he laughed with his Gaulish comrades. Beneath that arrogance, Thomas could now see it. A flicker in his eye that was too quick. A tension in his jaw.
Gnaeus wasn't just arrogant. He was nervous too. He had the burden of avenging Crixus and Barca unofficially.
Thomas smiled faintly. He had already seen his first opening, even before the fight began.
The next day,
The sound was the first to greet him. The roar of thousands of humans merging into the bellow of a giant beast, shaking the stones in the dark tunnels beneath the arena. The air felt heavy with the smell of dry sand, sweat, and the faint aroma of long-spilled blood.
The iron gate before him lifted with an ear-splitting screech.
Capua's sunlight hit him like a physical blow. Thomas squinted, stepping out of the darkness into a sea of sound. The arena stretched before him, a giant cauldron filled with tens of thousands of screaming, unknown faces. The heat immediately stung his skin.
Across the sand, Gnaeus was already waiting, raising his hands to welcome the roar of the crowd. He was their favorite, a brutal killer from the dirty fighting pits.
Above, in the seats of honor, Thomas could see the silhouettes of Batiatus, Lucretia, and an important-looking Roman official. Hundreds of eyes from the elite stared at him, assessing the newest asset of the House of Batiatus. The pressure felt like a tangible weight on his shoulders.
The bell rang.
Gnaeus didn't wait. He lunged forward, accompanied by the crowd's roar of approval. "Die, pet!" he bellowed, his voice almost swallowed by the noise of the spectators.
Thomas raised his shield, ready to withstand the onslaught. Gnaeus's attacks felt stronger here, fueled by the adrenaline of thousands of onlookers. Every parried slash sent painful vibrations up his arm. The crowd cheered Gnaeus's every attack and jeered whenever Thomas merely defended or dodged.
Thomas ignored the noise. He let the sounds become background, focusing on one thing: the man in front of him. His Basic Psychology began to work. He saw beyond Gnaeus's rage, there was tension. Gnaeus's eyes occasionally darted towards the noble seats. He didn't just want to win, he wanted to impress.
That need to show off made him careless. Rapid Adaptation began to map Gnaeus's now predictable attack rhythm.
When Gnaeus delivered a wide horizontal swing, a move met with cheers, Thomas no longer parried. He ducked beneath it, letting the sword pass inches above his head.
The crowd's jeers instantly stopped, replaced by gasps of surprise.
Before Gnaeus could recover, Thomas landed a quick blow with the pommel of his sword to Gnaeus's side. It didn't wound, but it was humiliating. The crowd laughed. Gnaeus's face flushed with anger.
He attacked again, this time wilder, more desperate. Thomas now moved with confidence. He dodged, deflected, and occasionally launched quick, precise counter-attacks. The fight had become a dance, where the enraged bull could not touch the agile matador.
The crowd's murmurs changed to a different kind of cheering. They began to appreciate the skill they were seeing. Every time Thomas managed to evade Gnaeus's attack with a nearly impossible movement, a collective held breath was heard from thousands, followed by applause and whistles.
Gnaeus, out of breath and humiliated, lost control. With a final roar, he lunged forward, swinging his sword blindly.
Thomas saw it. The perfect opening created by desperation.
He dodged the first slash. As Gnaeus spun for a second attack, Thomas kicked sand, momentarily blinding his opponent. Gnaeus cursed, rubbing his eyes. In that split second, Thomas had already moved. He slammed his shield into the back of Gnaeus's knee, then with a sweeping motion, he tripped Gnaeus's other leg.
The Pit Champion fell to his knees on the sand with a heavy thud. The tip of Thomas sword was already at his throat.
Complete silence fell over the arena. Tens of thousands of people held their breath.
Then, the silence broke into an explosion of cheers that shook all of Capua.
From his seat of honor, Batiatus jumped to his feet, his hands raised in the air. "VICTORY!" he roared, his voice triumphant.
"Not only victory! But a title claim! I present to you... THE NEW CHAMPION OF THE PIT!"
The crowd went wilder. Batiatus let the cheers ring out for a moment before raising his hands again.
"But a title alone is not enough for such skill!" he bellowed, his voice echoing.
"A fighter who wins with his mind deserves a name that history will remember! He is no longer known as Thomas! From this day forward, his name is... ULYSSES!"
The name felt alien, yet powerful. The crowd tasted it for a moment, then they began to chant it.
"U-LYS-SES! U-LYS-SES! U-LYS-SES!"
The echo of thousands of voices shouting his new identity hit Thomas with greater force than Gnaeus's blows. He stood in the midst of that sea of sound, a slave given a hero's name, a man who had just been reborn on the red sand of the arena.
---------------------------------------------------------
{Name: Ulysses (Thomas Vance)}
{Title: Champion of The Pit}
{Stored Essence: 3}
{Active Legacies: [Talent] Rapid Adaptation, [Knowledge] Basic Psychology (Tier 1)}